SHARKI AND THE MAD DRIVER

Driving home furiously, scarcely adhering to traffic rules, giving the finger to a diplomatic vehicle trying to overtake me, yelling furiously at a ‘danfo’ driver coming too close to me, only to realize he didn’t hear me through my wound-up car window, so I wound down and shouted ‘shege’ giving him all five fingers. He gave me all five fingers in return. At that moment I almost temporarily lost control of the steering wheel but I tightened my grip just in time.  Unfazed, I raced home, driving as if pursued by demons. At my gate, I blared the horn several times persistently, very uncharacteristic of me, which surprised the new young security guard, then shouting “why are you so slow?” His plastered smile turned to shock as his mouth formed a surprised ‘o’. Before he could summon an answer I had driven off to my parking space, jumped out of the car and run up the stairs.

My Office in Accra 2012

 I got to the door of my apartment before I realized that I left the apartment door key in the car. For the umpteenth time I made a mental note to attach the apartment door key to my car key ring. I took off my shoes, ran right back down the stairs yanked the car door open, grabbed my keys from the pigeon hole and ran all the way back upstairs to my first floor apartment.  I fought briefly with the door as I tried to open it in a hurry. It finally gave in and I ran into the apartment not caring to close the door behind me. At that moment I wasn’t thinking of the mosquitoes that will bite me later that night. All that was on my mind was the ‘gbegiri’ (traditional Yoruba soup made from blended beans and palm oil) soup in the freezer.

Earlier that day, I had been fasting, my first attempt at such in over a year. The hunger had eaten so deep that I was unable to concentrate on anything at the office. It is amazing how hungry one gets when you are deliberately avoiding food. I had tried to break the fast earlier but a look at my office cabinet revealed an empty tin of Ovaltine chocolate drink. Whoever finished my Ovaltine had also depleted my biscuit collection left an empty wrapper of Tuc biscuit behind. I was livid!

I made it through the day because I had an important meeting to attend at close of business. Throughout the meeting my stomach kept making rumbling unladylike noises, I bowed my head throughout the meeting in order not to make eye contact with any of my colleagues otherwise I would have been too embarrassed.  Back in my office, I alternated between answering official emails and Facebook messages in order to kill time until the hunger started to blind me. I almost shouted ‘hallelujah’ when my phone alarm notified me that it was 4pm I didn’t bother shutting down my computer properly, I closed my laptop, put it in its bag, grabbed my handbag and left the office.

I was sneaking out of the office when my supervisor walked in and asked to see me privately I almost snapped but kept myself in check. From the look on my face he could tell that something was wrong so when he asked if I was okay I told him I was sick so he let me go. In the car I didn’t bother connecting my ipod I just started the engine and drove off spraying gravel, only to meet a traffic jam at the intersection on the way home. Not that it was unusual, just that I really didn’t need that.  It was an effort in futility looking for something to buy from traffic hawkers as today of all days there seemed to be only recharge card, bathing sponge and knives sellers. All the ‘kpekere’ (plantain chips), hawkers where nowhere to be seen, so I had no choice but to intensify my efforts at getting home.

Amala at Gbagiri Iya Basira style Accra Ghana 2013

Presently, I was in my apartment where I ran straight to the kitchen. Shaky hands grabbed the electric kettle and filled it to the brim with water from the tap. I opened the cupboard, grabbed a small wrapped parcel, it contained some ‘elubo’ (dried yam bark flour), hurried to the fridge where I searched frantically for the bowl of gbegiri and ewedu, left over from last night. I found it and quickly placed it in the microwave and shut the door with a slam at the same time switching it on at the wall socket with my left hand. I grabbed a plate from the rack and set on the counter, went back to the fridge to grab a chilled bottle of water, the water in the electric kettle had started boiling, so I grabbed a pan from the lower cupboard and set on the counter. I poured a quarter of the boiling water in the pan then poured the elubo. As I ran to the drawer to fish out a ladle, I flipped on the gas switch then put the elubo pan on the fire and proceeded to turn the amala till it was shiny black and smooth.

I used a kitchen napkin to take the soup bowl from the microwave which had gone off then promptly rinsed my right hand at the tap and dove into the amala. First ‘okele’ (Yoruba word for morsel) burnt my fingers, my lips, throat and my stomach. I immediately started hiccupping. I took a swing from the bottle of water beside me, I was way past caring. I turned on the tap rinsed my hand again, and left the tap running. I cut another big okele this time the burn was too much I started blowing air from my mouth into the okele willing it too be cool enough to swallow. I swallowed it, cooled my fingers in the running tap water and took the next okele.

I couldn’t wait any longer so I took a bite of the ‘sharki’ (Yoruba word for the stomach portion of goat or cow meat), my stomach rumbled in agreement. It tasted so good, I took another huge bite and as my teeth sunk in and hooked the meat, I tried to pull with my incisors to cut it off while pulling the remaining end with my right fingers. It made a sound like an elastic band that had snapped, the sharki hit my face and soup sprayed over my face entering my right eye. I immediately dropped the ‘sharki’ on my right hand with a yelp of pain. As the sharki fell back to the plate it made a splashing sound and I felt rather than saw the palm oil stains create batik marks all over the front of my pink Banana Republic shirt.